[ Caprica has been back in the Gardens for four days now, without any contact with anyone except for Epsilon. The more time passes, the easier she finds it to keep her distance. Without other things to occupy her mind, however, it's more difficult to distract herself from thoughts of Gaius and D'Anna, or of Hera and what will happen to her on Galactica. A small part of her takes some strength, some clarity and focus from the pain, the bitterness and anger and guilt and worry. She is used to bearing a weight like this alone. The majority of her sibling Cylons would not understand, and no human in her world would want or care to understand. And in any case, it is solely hers to bear and she would not ask someone else to take it on.

The uncertainty, on the other hand, is wearing at her. Protecting Hera had been a certainty, something she had held to desperately in an instant of understanding that this was what God wanted from her, that the future of the Cylon race rested with one little girl. And if there is something Caprica has always wanted — despite everything — it has been to safeguard her people. Now that that has been taken away from her, she is left foundering in the lack of surety. Should she try to go back to the way things were before she left the Gardens, or try to continue to maintain her distance from the others? The women here, after all, have done her no wrong. But she still remembers her own words — I gave your people a chance, and for what? I'm a Cylon, Gaius. I lost sight of that. And the jagged wound in her heart is still fresh enough, the bitterness still deep enough. Love wasn't enough to bridge the gap.

The Vine seems to have its own ideas, however. Caprica is in the kitchen, having poured herself a full glass of ambrosia — she is quite resolutely avoiding the upstairs bedroom, which echoes with ghosts of old memories she wants to avoid even more than usual — when the plant sneaks across the floor and winds a tendril of itself rather forwardly around her wrist. She gasps a little, startled, and almost drops her glass. Her hands steady a moment later, and she regards the Vine briefly, considering. Then she lets out a breath and touches it gently with slim fingers, watching the mirror unfurl. It's a moment, as she turns the glass of alcohol between her fingers as if in thought, before she speaks. ]

The Queen must have seen fit to let me go home for a little while.

[ And that really is all she's going to say on that particular subject, her voice a little dry before she goes back to a more relaxed tone — a bit more distant than her usual, but not what one would call unfriendly. She keeps her eyes on the mirror when she speaks, despite every temptation to let the focus of her gaze go elsewhere. ]

I'm surprised this place is still here — the house. That it didn't disappear.

[ It might have been easier if it had; she wouldn't have recreated it. Caprica moves away from the kitchen proper to the dining table, sits down in one of the high-backed chairs, settling her ambrosia on the table with a clink of glass on glass. ]

I suppose it's become part of the Gardens in its own way.

[ There are things that a considerable part of her would very much like to do, like apologize, or ask after Jackie and Dominique. She is very careful not to do either one. Her expression is carefully reserved; only someone who knows her would recognize the sea of emotion roiling underneath that fine veneer of polite detachment. ]

[The voice that comes through from the Vine is not Amamiya's. It is not a girl's voice at all. Rather, it is a deep, masculine, and oddly familiar voice. Yes, there is a wildcard in effect. She's not doing video because she's too embarrassed by it]

I'm sure many of you have worked this out already, but do not go swimming in the ocean. It will have an unpleasant effect on you.